Manifestations of our Destinies
by Gilva Lepista
Summary: Fate is a strange foe. Lithuania, a nation committed to democracy, finally regained independence from its oppressors; meanwhile America, the flagship of freedom, was rapidly becoming one of the world's most powerful nations. But chaos was looming on the horizon, and it was not long before they each had to choose between liberty and justice. (WARNING: work-in-progress)
1. Homeless and Tempest-tost

_**Chapter One – Homeless and Tempest-tost**_

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The wind whipped through my hair and I could smell the salt of the sea; there was just enough of a spray to dampen my thick jacket. I didn't mind, though. It was better on the deck, away from all the noise. I was shivering and I could hardly open my eyes in the icy wind, but it was better to finally be away from the cramped little cabin that I shared with many, many others. The number varied by night, but there was always the noise of the young children screaming, and the old people coughing, and of every stomach crying out with hunger.

"You became also crowded, yes?" an amused voice asked from behind me.

I turned around and saw that the speaker was a little old woman with a cheerful, crooked smile, and a colorful scarf wrapped around her head. The combination of her grammar and accent rendered her almost incomprehensible, but I tried to come up with something polite to say nonetheless. "Well, I suppose so," was the best I could do.

Unfortunately, my lame response didn't dissuade her in the slightest. "There has too many were! But, outside is better with fresh air, with you agree I."

"I… well, um… yes, I suppose you're right…" I continued to sputter for a bit, giving myself time to unravel her garbled speech, but my own English wasn't great either. Finally I gave up. "Do you speak any other languages?"

"Yiddish speak I from childhood, but Russia speak I as well. My English improve I also much better," she beamed proudly.

As reluctant as I was to burst her bubble, this conversation could not possibly continue in English. Not too long ago I had been fluent in Yiddish, but I'd lost a lot of territory recently. That left only one other option: Russian. I tried to keep my scowl to a minimum. "Ya govoryu na russkom."

We conversed for some time about our travel experiences: the overcrowding, rudeness of the ticket masters, unfairness at the checkpoints; but mostly, the jubilation that it would all be over in just a few more hours. Just a few more hours, and Lady Liberty herself would be gazing at us from across the Hudson River. I knew the brazen giant's words by heart:

"Give me your tired, your poor,  
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,  
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.  
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,  
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

She flashed a wide grin as I finished my recitation. "I can't believe you memorized the whole thing," she said, her voice almost laughing. "Do you know what all those words mean?"

"That wasn't the whole poem," I said, "but I do know all the words." Despite my initial irritation she had turned out to be a delightful conversationalist. In many ways she reminded me of my sister: free-spirited and free of ambitions. Mirroring her infectious smile, I added, "I had an English dictionary back home."

We sat in peaceful silence for some time, and I was free to reflect upon my situation. Even then, I knew that I would be sad when the time came for me to leave this place. As long as I was here, all my problems were a world away. Here I could take shelter from the eternal storm of my life, but only for a short time. Amerika, the beautiful young nation that had it all, was not the place for me. After all, I hadn't come to run from my problems, but to regain my strength so I could face them head-on. Lenkija had stolen my heart, and I would not rest until it was returned to me.

"Are you all right?" the woman asked.

The statement took me by surprise, but there was nothing wrong with her showing a little sympathy. "I am fine," I said.

"Are you sure?" she persisted. "You look rather ill. Perhaps you ought to go inside."

"That wouldn't help," I said before I realized how odd it must have sounded. She was right; I had been under the weather lately, but in my case the weather had nothing to do with it. Being a… well, whatever I was, my health reflected the economy of my nation. And poor Lietuva had been having major financial problems ever since we had regained our freedom. But that was why I was here now: to make some money, and send it home.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to pry." She squirmed in silence for a minute, and I waited patiently. Finally she spoke again: "You're about the same age as my son. He's in Amerika already." Her expression twisted painfully. "My only child, alone on the other side of the world."

I gave her a gentle look that was meant to be reassuring, but she jumped and pointed, "There it is again! That look in your eyes." She blinked back the beginnings of tears. "You seem so lonely."

I chose my words carefully. "I'm... older than I look," I said, and tried to leave it at that. But she was clearly still worried about her child. Which wasn't all that surprising, I suppose. It was easy to forget that I had the appearance of a slightly disheveled young man, and as such, that was how most people saw me. The poor woman was afraid that her son would greet her with a thousand years of regret etched in his face.

Wishing to quell these fears, I considered telling her the truth. But lately, some of the others had been insisting that we be more discreet when dealing with normal humans. Supposedly it was 'for our own safety,' but I had been shot in the head multiple times and still survived, so I didn't see the point. What could mere mortals possibly do to us that we hadn't already done to each other?

Nevertheless, I held my tongue on the matter. I didn't enjoy being enigmatic, but the shock and disbelief that always followed such confessions were a bit tiresome. "Don't worry about your son. As long as he has his loving mother, he'll never be… quite this lonely."

Out of respect, she held her silence. Even though I'd had conversations like this a thousand times before, each time it reminded me of all the deaths I've seen, and all the loved ones I've lost. _She thinks I'm remembering one death,_ I thought. _Only one._

Suddenly the sounds shifted. The whirring of the steamer's engines slowed, and the sounds of excited voices began to emerge. I forced my eyes open and gasped involuntarily, giving myself a rather large mouthful of scarf. But at that moment I didn't care, because I could see her in the distance. We, the huddled masses, the homeless and the tempest-tost, all squinted into the distance where we could just see Lady Liberty. From our perspective she was only an amorphous piece of green metal shrouded in fog, but we knew her, and the cold metal of her torch set our hearts aflame with hope.

Those who could not see tried to shove their way onto the deck, but not everyone fit. The old woman and I, being the first on deck, were crushed against the railing. It was difficult to breathe, and my head was spinning. The heat was overwhelming, but I tried to convince myself that this feeling would pass in a moment.

_Damn it! Just when I thought my economy was finally beginning to stabilize! _This was the strongest spell I'd had since the Red Army's invasion, and of course, yet again, it was happening at the very worst of times. I couldn't faint in the middle of this crowd, I would be trampled, I had to steel myself against this nausea, but it was a battle against my own body, I couldn't fight with my heart whirring ineffectively like an ill-fitting gear, but I wouldn't lose, I couldn't lose this battle against the darkness, I had to hold on… hold on to something… but the world was going cold.

_Lenkija._ Lenkija was the only one not trying to kill me. I would have to accept his proposal, even though I didn't like it. Sooner or later, Prūsija would get the upper hand against us; he grew more powerful every day. But when had he become so cruel? Didn't he remember those days playing innocently with me and the others in the forest? Žemaitija, Žiemgala, Sėla, Latgala… my sisters. They were gone. Prūsija and Vokietija had killed them all. _No, not all—Latvija is still alive. _I couldn't remember who he belonged to, but I knew he was someone's slave. He was always someone's slave. But there was someone else, Lenkija wasn't the only one…

_Rusija._ My blood curdled just from thinking his name. I still wasn't truly free from him. I would never be free. Even when they told me I was free, even when they'd signed all the paperwork, he still forced my compliance, and his soldiers marched through my lands… to attack Lenkija…

The sudden reawakening of my own memories hit me like a shockwave. _That _was why Lenkija attacked me. He thought I couldn't take care of myself, and I had proved it by letting Rusija bully me again. Lenkija wanted me to die, and he wanted my land, my home, my people; he wanted to claim them for himself again. He thought he could take me before Rusija, just like he had so many years ago. But we couldn't live like that again… why didn't Lenkija understand?

"Lenkija! Stop, Lenkija! He's going to kill us! You'll never survive if you make enemies of us both!" Something tore at my throat and pounded at my ears. Eventually I became semi-aware that it was my own voice, screaming. "Please don't kill me, please don't take my people away from me, Rusija, I love them! I cannot belong to you, Lenkija, Rusija! Let me be free, please, please, don't take me away!"

I felt strong hands close around my wrists, an ever-too-familiar sensation, and I struggled and thrashed to try to get free, even though I knew he would only hurt me more. "LET GO!" I screamed, and the hands immediately followed my command.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… um…" a soft voice said somewhere above my head, and even through my hysteria I realized that there was something unusual about him today. _What language was that anyway?_ But I was in no state to give this much thought. I felt so helpless. I dissolved into desperate tears. I could feel his eyes on me, but the hands did not return. "You're safe now," the voice said, and for some inexplicable reason I believed it. I cried myself to sleep, but the next bout of fevered dreams was more peaceful.

I woke caged in blankets drenched in my own sweat. But I was glad for the sheets. Shivers wracked my frame, and every inch of my body felt so weak that it hurt. I needed water, but when I tried to move it sent an unbearable jolt of pain through me. The urge to break down in tears again was powerful, but my body wasn't even strong enough to do that. I wished for blissful unconsciousness to take me, but my grimy throat was too much of a distraction, a void gnawed at the inside of my stomach, and my skin burned while my insides froze.

Relief consumed me when I heard soft footsteps. I tried to move, to make some signal to this other presence that I was here, and that I needed him. He heard me. "Hey, you're awake!" his voice proclaimed, a bit too loudly, but I was glad to hear it. I tried to look at him, but my neck still felt like it was full of icy needles.

"You don't have to move, just hold on one sec," he said, and the next thing I saw was half of whatever I was laying on moving away from me. I panicked for a moment, and then realized that whatever he was doing to the other half of this large cushion, I was safely on one side of it. I looked up at him, and saw a tall young man with blonde hair and silly spectacles. He was a perfectly average-looking fellow, but that thing had to be at least twice his size.

I had only a moment to wonder how on Earth he was moving it before he started babbling again. "Hahaha, yeah, you were rolling around so much I was afraid you'd fall on the floor, so I pushed the couches together to make a giant crib. Wasn't that clever?" He grinned at me as if expecting a response, but I hadn't yet regained the ability to make facial expressions, which was probably for the best since I couldn't tell how I was meant to respond anyway.

He finished moving the couch and put a coffee table in its place. There was a variety of random objects on its surface, one of which was a little brass bell that he picked up and jingled at me. "I told you this earlier, but you were looking at me like I had two heads or something, so I'm guessing I should tell you again: if you need anything, just ring this and I'll come as soon as I can, all right? Um... there's some books, in case you get bored, or you can listen to the radio, it's over there, and, yeah, I think that's pretty much it. Oh right, water! Gotta stay hydrated, you know? I'll go refill it, be back in a sec!"

He spoke so loud and fast that I had to wonder when he found time to breathe. I was glad he had thought of bringing water himself, because I wasn't sure I could speak yet. He returned moments later with a glass half-full of water.

"All right, sit up. Can you do it yourself? I mean, I can help, it's just that you get a little upset sometimes if I touch you, and I suppose if you can do it by yourself then you'd rather do that, right? I mean, not that there's anything wrong with me helping you, except that it freaks you out, that isn't good, and I guess that's 'cause it's kind of embarrassing, huh? But that's okay! You're really sick, so you shouldn't be embarrassed at all that you need a little help! I mean, that's what other people are for, right? We all help each other when we're hurt or sick, that's what friends are for, and I'm totally sure that you would help me if I needed it, so... um... I can't remember what I'm trying to say, but I'll tell you if it hits me again..."

I wish I could blame my whimpering on the fever, but it was his words that brought that pathetic sound to my lips. He talked about friendship as if it was so simple and pure—and it wasn't so long ago that I had thought so too. I thought friendship was pure until Lenkija taught me the truth. He taught me that friendship is only a mask the day he stole my heart. I lost that innocent optimism the day Lenkija betrayed me.

My noisy caretaker moved to comfort me when he heard the sound, but stopped short of touching me. I felt a little guilty that he thought he had to be so timid around me. There was no way he had understood anything I said in delirium; no one spoke my native language but me. Apparently incoherent shrieking and thrashing had been enough to get _that _message across. I don't know how, but I managed to eke out the words "Help... me... water..." He brought his hands close to my shoulders, but they hovered there until I looked him in the eyes and nodded my approval.

Helping me sit up, the man brought the glass to my lips so I could drink it. He still refused to touch my face though, and without the support my lips slipped and some water spilled onto the blankets. "Oh! Sorry! Ahaha, that was kinda clumsy, wasn't it? Well, not that much spilled, so no big deal I guess. You alright?"

I couldn't help but smile a little at the way he nervously tried to fill the silence with his hyperactive babble. Immediate need satisfied, my body decided to start nodding off again. I wasn't quite sure why, but I whispered a gentle "Thank you" before dropping off to sleep again.

The next time I awoke, it was with a burning hunger. Food. I needed something to eat. I tried to get up, but it made the room spin, and my legs shook underneath me. Before, when that man had been talking about embarrassment, it didn't really register, but now that my awareness level had risen slightly, I was mortified at the prospect of ringing a little bell for help walking.

So far, this man had not taken advantage of my vulnerability. That didn't discount the possibility that he might try eventually, but, thinking over the events from last time I woke up, I decided that I wasn't in any immediate danger from him.

There was still the task of ringing the bell. I sat and stared at it for a while longer, trying to steel myself against my own sinking pride. Encouraged by a spasm of pain from my empty stomach, I finally managed to do it.

As promised, a loud voice immediately yelled, "COMING!" from some distance away. After a minute or two, he was at my side. It hadn't occurred to me until he arrived that I would have to ask him to make food for me. It was deeply humiliating, but as usual necessity dictated my actions.

"Um... please, if you don't mind, I'd... um... please... I'd like something to eat, please."

"Oh, of course! How about some chicken noodle soup?"

"That sounds wonderful, um... Mister...?"

"Great! I'll start heating it up right away, and you can just rest a little more until it's ready, okay? I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine, I mean, you've been sleeping for four days now, but you're sick so you never know, you might still be tired. I mean, being sick just sucks the life right outa you, which totally sucks, am I right?"

"Four... four days? As in..."

"Yup!" He held up four fingers enthusiastically. "Anyway, I'll show you to the kitchen once the soup's done, for now you should just rest or something, I guess."

"Actually, if you don't mind..." I was a little hesitant because I was trying to gauge his reactions, trying to figure out what behavior was acceptable to this man. "I'd like to come with you, please."

"Oh, totally! It'll be awesome to have someone to talk to while I'm cooking! It's been awful lonely around here lately…" He looked a little distracted for a moment, then shook his head to clear the thought and turned his attention back to me. "Well, come on then! Up with you!" He laughed loudly.

It seemed that almost any behavior was acceptable to him, since he didn't have any manners himself... but then again, I hadn't said much yet, so there was no way for me to know how he would react to changes in our situation. Even Rusija was kind under certain circumstances. Having dealt with a few too many psychopaths in my time, I knew that their behavior was prone to spin a full 180 when prompted with the right (or rather, the wrong) stimuli.

In any case, it was quite evident that I was physically incapable of walking on my own. I had tried my best to stand, but my knees gave in and I fell back onto the couch. He held out his hand to me and said, "It's okay. You can lean on me." Taking hold of his outstretched palm, we made it a few steps before I fell again, but since he was holding onto me he was able to slow the fall. He got down on his knees and asked, "Is it all right if I pick you up?"

At first I was hesitant because I didn't want him to hurt himself, but I remembered how easily he had moved that couch and decided that I probably wouldn't be much of a challenge for him. I nodded slowly, and he lifted me like I weighed nothing. It was a bit of a shock. I knew I had lost weight from being ill for so long, but there was no way it was just me. His strength was... inhuman.

Now I was worried. If he did turn out to be a psychopath, the worst possible introduction was to invite further interaction, then allow him physical dominance. I probably should have been worried a little sooner, considering the circumstances. After all, as far as I knew, this person had found me passed out on the deck of a ship and brought me into his house, not even knowing who I was, and nursed me back to health.

Worst-case scenario, he had claimed me for his own, and considering my history, that wasn't so far-fetched. If I showed any signs of fear now, it could be the end of me. That always set Rusija off. Fear. This person appeared to be almost as strong as Rusija, perhaps even stronger, and his personality so far hadn't given me any clues as to what he was really like. There had to be more beneath his goofy exterior. There always was. He might be cheerful, but no one was happy all the way to the core. Even those with good intentions had a few rotten places, folded away somewhere within themselves. Even the best people. Even me.

Lenkija showed me that. Lenkija brought out the worst in me. He was the one who discovered the anger and spite in my soul, and brought them to the surface.

The man put me down in a kitchen chair, and I realized that I had forgotten to be scared. Even though he was strong, he was gentle and timid whenever he made physical contact with me. That was a good sign. Rusija had always treated me like his property, but this man felt he needed permission even to touch my hands. He moved with such incredible trepidation; I had to wonder if perhaps he truly was as kind as he seemed.

Once he was no longer required to be close to me he went right back to his usual babble, prattling about "Model T" while opening a can of soup. He emptied it into a pan and turned on the stove, then crossed the kitchen to the table and said, "So! You're Lithuania. You must be really exotic, 'cause you're not on my map at all. Are you a real country or are you one of those... colonies, or... micro-nations..."

"No, I'm a real country. I just became independent a few years ago. But... how do you know who I am?"

"Oh, the CIA picked you up!"

I stared blankly.

"Well, see, you were like, sick or something, and this little old lady convinced them to take you to a hospital, and the doctors totally freaked 'cuz you're not human. They knew just from looking at you! Well, I mean, not _just _from looking at you, they must've done some tests I guess, but still! The things we can do with medicine these days! Pretty awesome, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's quite awesome. So... ehm... Mister See-aye-ey knows about... nation people...?"

"Exactly! See, guys like us are totally top secret, so, the hospital thought you were like an alien or something, like from outer space, but the CIA are spies so they get to know about classified stuff!"

"Guys like us? Wait—does that mean you are also... ehm..."

"Whaaa...? Oh! Wait, you think I'm just a normal dude? HAHAHAH ohhh that is sooo funny! But seriously, dude, how do you not know? I'm freakin' America, dude!"

"Oh!" I said with relief, "that explains a few things," and made a mental note not to mention to him that I regularly corresponded with my citizens.

"You betcha it does! Man! You are one funny dude! Hahahahaha! I'm gonna go check on the soup." I was a little surprised by the abrupt transition, but the smell of soup wafted in and immediately hunger overtook my curiosity. Amerika returned with a loud "Heeeeere's the Soup King! Aahaha! I'm only joking, that would be totally weird. No kings here, 'cause this is the Land of the Free! I guess that makes me the Soup President then, huh? Anyway, here's the soup, be careful 'cause it's kinda hot!"

He continued babbling, this time about whether women should be allowed to vote. I found this much more interesting than the Model T talk, especially since the speaker himself seemed so conflicted about it. After all, Lenkija and I had always fought over whether there ought to be separate laws for people of different demographics, back when we were a democracy; though I admit it had never occurred to me to include women.

I missed being a true democracy. It always made me feel better working with a boss who my people had chosen. At the moment, Rusija had left my home in such chaos that I couldn't even take an accurate vote, but it still made me feel more comfortable knowing that Amerika was dealing with problems I could relate to.

It also gave me a sense of reality. Amerika might be the most prosperous place in the world now, but his streets were not paved with gold and he had his own problems to face. His strength still frightened me a bit, but he seemed very earnest.

By the time I finished eating, I began to feel drowsy again, but there was something I had to do before I slept. "Amerika..." I said softly.

"Hmm?" he answered. I was mildly surprised he had heard me, but glad.

"I haven't seen it yet."

"Seen...?"

"Anything! I mean... I've only seen the inside of this house..."

"Oh! Oh, I see... well, we can't see the _whole _country right now, gosh, I haven't even seen every part of it, and I've lived here my whole life! Hahaha, of course I have. But you're in no condition to go sightseeing!" I felt myself sag a little, and again I was a surprised that he was picking up on my reactions. "I guess we can check out the view from the front porch if you really want to."

"Yes, please! I'd appreciate that very much, if you please, Mr. Amerika."

"No need to be so formal. It's only the front porch!"

"Yes, M... Amerika. Thank you."

He picked me up again, and this time I let myself relax in his arms. With my head against his chest, I could hear his heartbeat, but I jumped in alarm when I realized how fast it was. "Am... am I too heavy?" I asked.

"No," he responded, "why would you think that?"

"Your heartbeat..." I mumbled, "It's so fast... and loud..."

"Really? It doesn't seem any faster than normal."

"It's _always _like this?"

"Yup! At least I think so..." He pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cool autumn breeze.

It was beautiful. A whole street block with perfect little houses just like this one. In one of the other yards, I could see children playing with their dog; in another, a man washing his car. The breeze rustled through big green leaves, just a few tinged with yellow. It was all so peaceful, and yet so alive.

Too exhausted to worry any more, I drifted off to sleep with my head resting against Amerika's racing heart. The last thing I heard was "You're safe now" before the darkness took me.

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**Author's notes:**

Re-uploaded 4/17/2013 with special thanks to my Beta Extraordinaire, Punmaster Extrordinaire, and to my reviewers, for letting me know which parts were working and which were falling through the cracks. Your feedback is very much appreciated, and has helped me add a whole new layer of refinement to the story. :)

First of all, names: Lietuva = Lithuania, Amerika = America (duh), Lenjika = Poland, Prūsija = Prussia, Vokietija = Germany, Latvija = Latvia, Rusija = Russia, and the ones he refers to as "my sisters" are indigenous Baltic tribes. Hoorah.

History lesson (because I love it when Himaruya does these sorts of explanations): I'm sure most people already know this, but Eastern European immigrants came to the U.S. in droves in the early 20th century. That sonnet he recites is an excerpt from "The New Colossus" by Emily Lazarus, and is engraved on the pedestal at the foot of the Statue of Liberty, and symbolized hope and the American Dream for those newcomers. Lithuania became independent in 1918 (in the aftermath of WWI), and this is the early 1920's (1922, to be precise), so he's the new kid on the block as far as the other nation-tans are concerned.

Next chapter- The Modern Household: America "hires" Liet as his housekeeper.

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**This chapter brought to you with limited commercial interruption ****by Generic Manhattan Tours Co.**

"**We've got a big ol' statue here, so come visit Manhattan!"**


	2. The Modern Household

**chapter two - The Modern Household**

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I awoke with a sickening panic the minute I felt sunlight on my face. Why hadn't Estija woken me? How could he have let me sleep this late? I bolted upright and turned my head to the right where he and Latvija should have been, but of course they were not.

I forced myself to calm down, and remembered where I really was. "Amerika..." I muttered to myself, and wondered what I ought to do. Due to the strange circumstances of my arrival, I wasn't sure where to go next—or, for that matter, where I was now. Recalling yesterday's brief trip outside, I decided that there was no way I was still in New York City; there wasn't a skyscraper in sight. I slowly paced around the room nervously, pondering what I should say to my kind, but eccentric host.

I was pulled out of my reverie by a raised voice several rooms away. "Goes against policy? Honestly, don't give me that bureaucratic hocus-pocus, these are peoples' lives here you soggy old redcoat!" I listened for the answer, but the other voice was too quiet for me to hear. I chastised myself for eavesdropping, but when Amerika raised his voice again I could not help but listen.

"Look, I know he's a special case, but the way you pack them in like canned sardines it's a wonder they don't all die of fever!" Another pause. "I know, I know, I'm sorry. I'm really… I just don't like seeing that sort of…"

This time the quiet voice took over long enough for me to wonder what they could be talking about. Amerika used a lot of strange words that hadn't appeared in any of my English lessons, so even when his words were meant for me I could only understand the gist of what he said. When Amerika spoke again, his voice was much quieter, so I could not hear the rest of the conversation.

I stared out the window at the nearly-empty streets and wondered yet again what sort of place this could be. I couldn't wait to step outside and become a part of it and drink in all the colors and the sounds. The American Dream.

There was a loud click from the other room, then the sound of footsteps. Amerika entered, and beamed when he saw me at the window. "Whatcha lookin' at?" he asked cheerily, without a trace of the heaviness from his earlier conversation lingering in his voice. I stuttered incoherently for a minute, still amazed by how quickly he had changed his tone from grave to utterly carefree. He laughed his usual boisterous laugh and said, "Yeah, you're right. I am useless in the morning before I've had my coffee!"

Again, I found myself quite confused, but then remembered that Amerika frequently responded to things I had not said, and dismissed the comment as another of his meaningless expressions. "C'mon, time for breakfast! I'll show you where everything is," he said, and led me to the kitchen.

"Allllriiiightoooo!" he announced dramatically once we were in the kitchen. "First things first: coffee!" He gestured to a funny-looking metal pitcher and proceeded to pull various things out of cupboards and dump them into the pitcher, all the while gesturing at it as if he were, perhaps, instructing me. "See, isn't this great? You just push this button and the percolator takes care of business! I just love being hooked up to the electrical grid, it makes things so much easier, and it's so much more efficient now that we're on A.C., I can't wait 'til I've got the whole country connected, that'll really be the start of a whole new modern age! Aaanyways, as I was saying, breakfast!"

My poor brain was a tangled, muddled mess, since yet again he was going off on unrelated tangents and using a lot of newfangled words. I tried to stop him for a moment and ask him to explain what exactly was going on, but before I had the chance he started demonstrating another device, and narrating: "…aaand now we start the eggs and sausage! Let's see, do I have a clean frying pan? Hmm, well, I suppose 'clean' isn't an absolute, is it? I mean, I wouldn't call this one 'clean' exactly, but it isn't too dirty either, ehehe, I suppose a bit of old grease isn't going to kill us, see, this is why it's good that you're here now…"

I failed to understand what my presence had to do with the debatable hygiene of his kitchenware, but he had apparently made the decision to use the slightly-dirty saucepan, and was on to the next task.

"Okey dokey, time for some eggs and sausage!" he pulled open a white cabinet and mumbled, "hmm… I'll have to send you shopping at some point… running out of food… but hey, isn't this great? See, this is why every modern household should have electricity, it just makes everything so much easier, see this here is a 'fridgerator, and it keeps your food cold so that it doesn't go bad, 'cuz it's too cold for bacteria, so you only have to shopping once in a while, not every day! See, this is why we're having so many changes in the way households are run, with all the new technology women don't have to stay home all the time, and they want to be able to work and vote and do all the same stuff that men do, and I suppose they'll be able to once we've got everyone on the electrical grid and awesome machines to do all the laundry and the cooking, y'know?"

There was a sudden loud beeping noise behind me, and I jumped. "Aha!" Amerika exclaimed, "coffee's ready!" He pulled a mug out of somewhere, and sniffed it. He wrinkled his nose, then repeated the procedure with several more mugs, continuing to jabber about how awesome it was to have housemates as he did.

Finding a mug he was apparently satisfied with, he poured himself a cup from the 'percolator,' but then announced, "Ahaha, you've been sick, so I'll wash a cup for you, don't want my old germs, right? Cleanliness is godliness!" as he proceeded to wash a cup, then pour some of the steaming black liquid in it and hand it to me.

Throughout all of this I tried my best to express my confusion, but there were very few gaps in his speech left open for me to take advantage of, but I tried my best. "E—em… excuse—ex—excuse m… excuse…" I interjected at every minor pause in his rambling. I really didn't want to raise my voice, but I couldn't figure out how else to get through to him, so I steeled myself to do something completely outside my area of expertise: yell.

Praying that he would not be to upset, (and that my voice would not shake too much), I took a deep breath and bellowed, "PLEASE EXCUSE MY INTERRUPTION, MISTER AMERIKA SIR!" He looked at me with wide eyes, and it occurred to me that I hadn't exactly prepared what to say once I had the floor. I stumbled, "…is it… I don't under…stand… why do you show me these things? You cannot mean for me to stay?"

"Of course I do, silly! I've been so busy lately with all this new manufacturing, all these new products and patents and inventions! The future is now! But, um… wait… what was I talking about? Oh! Right, um… Hold on a sec, it's on the tip of my tongue…"

He did not comment on my out-of-character outburst, but apparently it had thrown him a little off guard. I felt guilty, so I opened my mouth to apologize for my behavior, but he interrupted me again: "Oh, right! These dishes are not going to wash themselves, are they? Well, not yet, hahahaha, there'll be machines that do that soon though! England's just come up with one, it doesn't work very well, but I'm sure if he keeps at it it'll be a huge success! We won't need housekeepers anymore, haha! Well, I mean, don't worry, there'll be other jobs—better ones!—for people like you once we have machines to do the dirty work, haha, and besides, I need you right now obviously, since those things haven't been invented yet, but just you wait! You see? That's why I'm so busy all the time, I have to get those inventions going, make a business of it!" I wondered vaguely if he was aware of how often he repeated himself.

"Speaking of which…" he mumbled and looked at his wrist, then jumped up as if his chair had suddenly burned him: "Oh, look at the time! I'd better get going," he stuffed the last of his food into his mouth, then continued to shout with his mouth still partly full, "try to get the dishes done and those sheets from when you were sick, they're all gross and sweaty now," he pulled his blazer on for work, "oh, and get a bath, you don't smell too great either, hahaha," he hopped up and down in his effort to put his shoes on while still talking, "I'll be home at six sharp, try to have something ready, I'll be starving! Nothing fancy, just whatever you can find!" he said, his last words cut off by the slamming of the door.

I had just enough time to unravel my mind from the strain of trying to comprehend all of this, before the door crashed back open and Amerika's head reappeared. "Oh, and I'll take you for a joyride this evening, look forward to it!" he yelled, grinned manically and stuck his thumb into the air, then popped back out again as abruptly as the first time.

That statement was a little worrisome; I hadn't the slightest clue what a 'joyride' was.

I also wasn't entirely sure what I was supposed to be doing. With all the optimistically futuristic babble interspersed within Amerika's instructions, it was difficult to remember what those instructions had been. I knew he wanted me to take a bath—that particular comment had been embarrassing enough to stick out in my memory—but the other chores should be finished first, since I would only dirty myself again doing them. "Have food ready at six sharp…" I repeated, and checked the clock. Just past eight fifteen. I was glad I had looked, in case I was expected to make breakfast for him tomorrow morning. Dishes and laundry… that was all, wasn't it? "Well," I said to myself, "better to get some of it done than none," and went to work.

The breakfast portion he had served was absurdly large, so there was plenty to share. The house was also absurdly large, so it took me a while to search the entire thing. I started from the room where I had heard the shouting, and tried to be as methodical as possible with my sweeps. After searching the entire house at least three times, I was certain I hadn't missed a single nook or cranny; so where was the other servant?

More than a little disturbed, I returned to the kitchen. The coffee was only lukewarm by then (Amerika must have burned his throat choking it down the way he had!), and had an intensely bitter flavor which was so unexpected it almost made me gag. I was accustomed to drinking vodka though, so my second attempt wasn't so bad. It didn't seem to have alcohol, but the flavor was so strong I couldn't really tell.

It didn't feel right to eat breakfast while the other servant was going hungry, but there wasn't much I could do if I couldn't even find him. It wasn't clear whether I was allowed to use the 'fridgerator, so I decided not to risk it. The food would be gone by the time Amerika returned anyway.

Once I had figured out how the temperature was controlled by the two handles, I found myself in enthusiastic agreement with Amerika's analysis of the new technology; it made dish-washing much easier. Not only was I able to use pleasantly warm water, but there was also an unlimited supply of it, and no need to head outside to a pump. I felt brilliantly energized by the coffee, but at the time had no understanding that caffeine was the culprit and attributed the feeling to the exhilaration of newfound (if temporary) freedom.

I was similarly pleased with how easy the laundry was. After a brief pondering, I decided that the tub in the bathroom would make a good washbasin, and it was already equipped with its own spigot. I found the toilet a little unnerving, but Amerika had assured me that it would not flush unless I pulled the handle. This was reassuring, but I still didn't want to be in the same room with it for too long.

I had been half-asleep the last time (or times?) I used the bathroom, so I didn't really think about where all that water came from. Several years ago, Rusija had stolen some plumbing from Vokietija's house, and I was curious how it was supposed to work. I checked the clock and saw that I had plenty of time, so I snooped around the base of the tub to try to find the source of the water. Unlike the sinks and toilet, the tub's pipes were clearly visible, thin metal pipes that went straight through the floor, and were encrusted with rust around each of the seams, separate pipes for the hot and cold water, and a larger third pipe that led from the drain.

These must be a new variety of pumps which ran themselves, using some kind of giant percolator (without any coffee in it) somewhere underground, electrically heating the water. Or perhaps there were natural hot springs somewhere nearby. I would have to ask him about it, although, I thought with an internal groan, I might have to yell again in order for him to hear my question.

Once the tub was sufficiently filled with sudsy water, I plunged the sheets into it and swished them around, enjoying the warmth. When I finished, I drained the water and refilled the tub with clean water to rinse the soap out. To my annoyance, I had to repeat this procedure far too many times. I made a mental note to pay more attention in the future to how much soap I used. The weather was very nice that day, and I felt a great contentment as I rung out the sheets and pinned them to the lines in the cool autumn breeze.

Out in the backyard, I checked again for a servants' cabin, but there was none in sight, so the servants must live inside the house. I couldn't believe he still hadn't shown his face—his primary duties must take place outside the house. But this, as far as I was concerned, was just as well considering how noisy Amerika was. Two such personalities would create a positively deafening environment, even in a house as large as this.

The bath could only hold so much at a time, so I had to repeat all this twice more, but it was still much easier and warmer than using an outdoor pump. Once I was finished, I prepared myself for a bath. The smell of soap had reminded me just how dirty I had become on the ship, and I was more than ready to cast off my layer of filth.

Being surrounded by all these luxuries, I could not help but think back fondly on my early days with Lenkija. Despite our current conflict, there had been a time when we had enjoyed prosperous days together. Only now, a world away from the fighting and backstabbing and bloodshed, could I even remember that we had once been happy. He had taught me new farming techniques, architectures, metalworking.

But most importantly, he had taught me how to write. At first only in Latin, but it was not long before I figured out how to use those same symbols to write in my own tongue. The words written in my past reminded me who I was, and the words written by my people both in the present and the past brought them together. It was books that had kept my culture and philosophies alive, had kept the hopes and dreams of my people alive, through even our darkest oppression.

I tried not to think about those times, but it was difficult not to as I washed my more sensitive areas, and could not ignore the creeping memory of how very tender these places had been only months before. I shivered despite the warmth, and decided that it was high time I put some clothing on.

As it turns out, I had spent considerable time in the bath, and only had half an hour before "six sharp." I checked the 'fridgerator, but as Amerika had mentioned earlier, it desperately needed to be replenished. I rummaged around in the cabinets and found some soup and bread. It wasn't much, but Amerika had said that I didn't need to be fancy, and it wasn't as if I had any other options until I could get to a market. Fortunately, I did remember where he kept his can opener, but I wasn't sure how much to make.

One can was a good-sized meal for any normal person, but there wasn't anything normal about Amerika. The fact is, I was glad that I'd be in charge of portion sizes from now on, because the amount he had served me for breakfast was quite a bit more than I was comfortable eating, and probably would not have been able to finish under normal circumstances. Of course, I would serve him as much as he pleased, since he was my master—

The master of this house. That was what I meant to think. He wasn't my master. I would never call anyone master again. I wouldn't even think it.

I bit my lip, furious with myself for slipping back into the subservient mindset so easily. Sure, it had been beaten into me with decades of psychological and physical torture, but I would never be truly free if I allowed myself to fall into others' possession so easily. This situation was temporary, and once I had made a bit of money I would return home. I would have to tread carefully from here to make sure that my own goals—the welfare of my own people—remained my primary focus.

At almost exactly six o'clock, Amerika returned with a loud "Heyaaaaah, I'm hoooome!" He laughed about our unimpressive canned-soup dinner, but appeared more amused than upset. For the better part of the meal, he babbled his usual babble, and didn't show any signs of acknowledging the argument I had heard that morning.

Eventually Amerika noticed me shifting uncomfortably and asked what I was thinking.

I blushed furiously and exclaimed, "No! It is not my place to impose!"

Despite my protests, Amerika insisted that I "C'mon, spit it out!" and assured me that he didn't want there to be any "bad blood" between us.

Finally I gave in. I took a deep breath and spoke through clenched teeth. "I was… slightly disturbed by the manner in which you addressed that other servant."

Amerika blinked blankly. "The… who… but there's no one else in the house…"

"Then who were you scolding this morning?" I demanded accusingly.

His eyes wandered around the room in confusion for a minute, then he suddenly blasted, "Oooohohoho, the phone call!"

I was utterly confounded by this development in the conversation, and Amerika decided to interpret this confusion as a demonstration of curiosity for yet another new technology: "So, phones let you talk to someone really far away as if they're right in the room with you, well, you can only hear their voice, but still, it's totally awesome! Phones have actually been around for a while now, but now that the Bell patent's expired, anyone can make 'em! See, what happened is I've got these things called patents that I give to people who invent new technologies to make sure that the inventor gets some of the profits, not just the manufacturer, so that'll encourage more people to come up with cool new inventions. So, what happened with the telephone was that at first only the guy who invented them was allowed to make them because of his patent, well, actually, it's technically his company, the company he worked for, that was allowed to, and if anybody else did it was illegal. But now that patent's expired, so anyone can make telephones that wants to, so now that one company doesn't have a monopoly anymore, there's competitors, so they have to compete for who has the lowest price so that people will buy phones from their company instead. It's simple supply and demand: before, there was a really limited supply so demand was high and they could keep prices really high; now, there's more suppliers, so the price goes down, but once the price goes down it means that more people can buy 'em, which means that demand increases too, so there's room for even more suppliers until everyone has phones! And that's why the capitalist economy is the best! It keeps expanding all on its own, so everyone can get rich! At least, that's how it's supposed to work… but what's happened with the phone companies is that people can only talk to people with phones from the same company, so that's how each company wants to drive out competitors so _they_ can get a new monopoly, it's really annoying though, you're supposed to be able to call _anyone_ who has a phone, not just people who bought their phone from the same company. Now everyone'll try to get their phones from the same company and that company'll end up with a monopoly, and then there won't be any competition so they'll be able to charge as much as they want, and prices'll go up again! This can't happen with most products, but since phones are directly connected to the company's switchboard, they're able to control who can call who, and this is all in the private sector, so there's nothing I can do about it…"

Perhaps Amerika was more suave than he let on. Not even Lenkija could completely avoid a direct question with such ease and grace.

Since he was jabbering so profusely, Amerika still had food on his plate when I finished. He noticed this quickly, and rectified the situation by jamming the rest of his meal into his mouth, almost in a single gulp. My eyes widened to saucers.

"Aaaahhh," he gasped once the last of the food was down his throat. "Come on, let's call Canada!"

"Canada?"

"Yeah! You know, on the phone!"

"Oh! Really? I would love to see a telephone in action! That sounds fascinating!"

"You betcha it does!" he responded, and half-dragged me into the living room in his excitement, leading towards a complicated-looking metal device. He picked up two pieces from the device, each with a cord to the base, and held one to his ear and the other to his mouth. While waiting for a sound from the one at his ear, he waggled his head from side to side, and his grin threatened to split his head in two.

Whatever prompt he was waiting for appeared, and he gestured for me to listen in. "Hello, operator, how may I help you today?" an oddly-distorted, probably-female voice emanated from the machine, just as Amerika had described. It was incredible to see it in practice.

"Connect me to Matthew Jones, VIP!" he answered into the mouthpiece.

The earpiece responded, "One moment please."

There were several bangs and clicks and a buzzing sound, then another voice, this time male: "America! What is it?" The speaker seemed slightly panicked.

"Heya, Mattie! Nothing's wrong, just showin' a friend something. And use the codenames!"

"What for? I'm alone in my office."

"But what if someone's wiretapping us!"

"You said there wasn't anything important going on."

"Not exactly... But I got a new housekeeper! That's exciting, right? Hey, say 'hi.'"

"Hi Mister... um... I don't remember his code name..."

"Matthew!"

"...Mister Matthew."

There was a long pause.

"Can I hang up now, _Alfred? _This is really expensive."

"Yeah, cool, okay!"

Click.

"Ehehe," Amerika said as he replaced the pieces on their base, "yeahhh... long distance phone calls are kind of expensive. I suppose I should have called someone in the neighborhood..."

Soon after that, I discovered that 'joyriding' meant driving around with the windows open without really going anywhere. Amerika led me outside and showed me his car (I was a little dismayed that he thought I didn't know what a car was—I may have been a little behind the times, but I wasn't completely ignorant!) and for the first few minutes jabbered about car models again. I would have been more interested in how the engine worked, but had a feeling the distinction between the two topics was a little too subtle for Amerika to heed. But soon, the car was moving too fast and the wind was too loud, so he stopped talking altogether.

As we drove, the sun set, and the wind chill began to cut through my coat, and I started to shiver. America leaned over and yelled, "YOU COLD?" in my ear, and I tried my best to gesture that I was fine, but he ignored me and pulled over to the side of the road. "Here, I'm not cold at all, you can borrow my jacket," he said with a gleaming grin as he removed his funky-looking leather jacket. I protested, although I'm not sure why I bothered; by that point it was abundantly clear that he wasn't going to listen to me if he didn't want to. I wrapped his jacket around my shoulders, and was glad for the warmth. He turned on the headlights and drove a little further, then we came over the crest of a hill.

At first I wasn't sure what I was looking at. It was a bit like candles on a Christmas tree, but it appeared to spread out several miles. It was a city, filled with lights. I turned to Amerika, who was gazing fondly at the city, and asked, "Is it… they are… electrical grid lamps?"

It seemed even his personality was pacified by the twilight breeze, as for once he didn't laugh at my imperfect terminology. "Close," he corrected, "electric lights. Aren't they beautiful?" I didn't answer, so after a few minutes he said, "I bet you can't wait 'til your cities are all lit up like this too, huh?"

I answered honestly, "Perhaps someday, but for now I can only hope that they're still standing."

I hadn't intended to ruin the mood with my gloomy statement, but less than a minute later he restarted the ignition, and drove back in silence.

When we got back to the house, Amerika's electric lights were lit as well, giving it a warm and inviting glow. Once the engine was off, I said "Thank you," and he simply nodded and smiled. Inside, I took off his coat, then my own, and hung them up. Meanwhile, Amerika hopped into the living room and switched on a noisy device. He gestured for me to sit beside him, and I obliged. I listened to the sound, and after a minute was able to pick out a few words and phrases. My understanding of English was not too keen to begin with, and with all the static that came from the speakers I could not hope to catch the meaning of this "radio broadcast." Besides which, I was exhausted, and Amerika caught me nodding off several minutes in.

He helped me bring the dry sheets in from the yard, and showed me to an empty room with a bed. I inquired as to what such a room was doing there, and he informed me that someone called China used to be his housekeeper, but Amerika's boss had recently fired him. That was just as well; I couldn't stick around too long anyway, so if Amerika's boss decided to fire me too… it didn't matter.

The next morning I arose at sunrise again, by habit. I went to the kitchen to check the clock, and it was only six-thirty, so I took the opportunity to look at some of the books I had been eyeing during the radio broadcast the previous day. I tried my best to use phonetics, since English used an alphabet almost identical to mine, and met with some success, but it would take a lot more practice to be able to read fluently.

At seven-thirty I started cooking breakfast, this time with an indisputably clean pan. Amerika arrived with a hearty yawn at eight o'clock. It was eggs and sausage again, since that was the only thing in the fridge, and I really hoped he was planning on going shopping soon, because I used up the last of them, and told him so. "Oh, it's all right, tomorrow's Saturday, I was planning on going shopping then anyway," he answered sleepily. He was running a little late, so he gave me the day's instructions while wolfing down his breakfast, which, oddly enough, made them easier to follow.

"All right then, I think that's all," he said as grabbed a clean mug out of a cabinet, "I'll be on my way then," and made a grab for the percolator. I cringed visibly when he picked it up. It hadn't even occurred to me that he would want coffee again, but, as fate would have it, that turned out to be his berserk button. "You didn't make any coffee?" he shouted into his empty mug, and I cowered in fear.

_Here it comes,_ I thought, and braced myself for the tempest. "I don't have time to make a pot myself… Aargh, I told you I'm useless without it! Now I'm going to be late AND I'll be exhausted all day! Why does my boss always fire my housekeepers the second I've got them trained? Doggone it! What a nuisance! Godd—ggone it!" That was the last thing I could hear before the door slammed behind him.

In a conversation years later, he admitted regretfully that he never would have taken such an accusing tone if he had sensed my mood. The truth is, he hadn't said anything too terribly offensive, but the situation had jolted me with the memory of painful past experiences. There were certain things that would trigger Rusija's psychotic side, and it while some of them were somewhat obvious, but more importantly, consistent, others were too unpredictable to avoid.

Most of the time psychotic was as far as he went, but particularly when he was drunk he would go from cheerful to psychotic in an instant, and then to psychopathic as soon as I either answered or didn't answer. He would demand an opinion from me, and I would initially answer as politely as I could. "Do not talk back to your master," he would snarl violently, then demand something else from me. This time, I wouldn't answer, and he would accuse me of "defying your master." I would answer as blandly as I could, hoping that he would not find a way to interpret it as an insult, and he would say, "You hesitated, Litwa. That isn't what you really believe, is it?"

He would continue this cycle, the putrid bite of the alcohol changing from a smell to a taste to a state of mind as he circled ever closer, his presence threatening, then inescapable, then all-consuming. I could run. I had before. And he made me regret it. The more reason he had to punish me, the more he would, so all I could do was give him as little reason as possible. That's why he taunted and goaded me, that's why he forced me to speak, so he could find something, even the smallest thing that he deemed worthy of punishment. No matter how drunk, he always had his wits about him when it came to psychological torture. Even while he inflicted the worst possible humiliation and pain on me, he told me, over and over, that I deserved this; I was disrespectful; this would teach me discipline; this was my own fault.

The worst part was, most of the time he acted loving and kind. As long as I was "appreciative," he would make my body enjoy it. That was the worst part, because I gave in. I even begged him once while he was drunk in the hopes that it would reverse his blind fury, but it only increased. There was nothing I could do but lay there and let him do as he wished, but it was my choice to take his offering of benevolence. Laying there pliant beneath him, those were the worst moments of my life, much worse than any pain. And Amerika was kind.

When Amerika returned that evening, I was there to greet him. "I'm leaving," I said, before I could second-guess myself. He was still in the entryway and was just beginning to remove his second shoe. He froze there, standing on one leg with his thumb in the heel. "I'll stay for five days. That's how long you took care of me. After that, I'm leaving." He averted his gaze and finished removing his outerwear. I silently led him to the kitchen, and we ate out canned-soup-and-noodles in silence.

He finally spoke up, staring determinedly at a spoonful halfway to his mouth. "Why?"

I answered vacantly, "Your offer is kind, but I will find a different job."

After dinner I asked if there was anything else I should take care of, and he shook his head. I returned to my room, to upset to even read, and stared at the ceiling until I fell into fitful sleep.

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**Author's notes:**

Re-uploaded with thanks to my Beta Extraordinaire, Punmaster Extrordinaire!

Names: Estija = Estonia.

History lesson (because I love it when Himaruya does these): Believe it or not, America's rambling monologue on telephones is a pretty accurate snapshot of 1920's economics. The principles of supply and demand ran the market, and there was very little government involvement, the philosophy being that an "invisible hand" would guide progress of the market-driven economy, and that the government's role was to _laissez-faire, _which is a French command: "Let it be."

For those of you who skipped that humongous paragraph about telephones, let me summarize: "If this paragraph makes any sense whatsoever, the Great Depression won't happen!" …And we all know how that turned out.

One more thing (I promise, this is it!): the America's-boss-fired-China thing is a reference to the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.

Next chapter- Coffee and Tea: America gets a visit from an old friend.

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**This chapter brought to you with limited commercial interruption by Generic & Johnson, Ltd.**

"**Our commercials are the most entertaining thing on the radio, so buy lots of soap from us!"**


	3. Coffee and Tea

**chapter three - Coffee and Tea**

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The next four days were a disaster. Amerika had vacation for some reason on Saturday, and brought me to church with him on Sunday. This drastically changed the situation—I had expected four days of moping alone in the house. I got the vague impression he had planned to take me joyriding again, or something of that variety, which gave me a little pang of guilt here and there, but I reminded myself that it was just as likely as not he had ulterior motives. After all, Lenkija did a pretty good job buttering me up in the early days.

The first day after my announcement began as awkwardly as the previous night had ended. There were also no sausages left, only eggs; there was plenty of coffee though, so I made as much as the percolator could hold. He slept in later than usual, so I drank a mug of it while I was waiting for him to get up since there was too much anyway.

I was about to go check his room to see if he was alright, and as I was passing the hallway I heard his voice. It seemed he was talking on the phone again, quietly this time, so while I was waiting I returned to the kitchen and had another cup of coffee. And a third during breakfast when he finally arrived. This did not do any wonders for my temperament.

Once he was finally off the phone, Amerika plastered on his most cheerful smile and tried not to look disgusted. There was a rumor that Amerika had no sense of taste, but the unappetizing breakfast of cold, gooey, sunny-side-up eggs and bitter, lukewarm coffee tested even his endurance.

"Aha…" he laughed nervously, visibly struggling to maintain his habitual decibel level, "I have to go shopping today! For more groceries! Obviously, I mean, you've seen my fridge. Not that I'm… complaining… you've done real' good with what's here, it's just… my fault for not bothering with the… ehh… Anyway, I was going to show you how to do it yourself, maybe let you drive a little so you can learn so you can get there on your own without me—BUT! Well… aah… I'm sure you'll enjoy seeing the grocer's anyway, even if you don't really have to know… how… well, how stuff works, I guess—Anyway, GROCERIES! …uuh, yeah, groceries."

We hopped into Amerika's Model T car, and drove in relative silence. Occasionally he tried to start up a conversation, but I was still rather bitter, and it was hard to hear over the road noise anyway. First we went to normal markets to get bread, meat, and vegetables, but we also stopped by a "chain store" to replenish the canned soup and dry pasta collection.

There were a lot of random household items around; apparently a chain store was one that defied any logical categorization system. It seemed like the sort of thing Amerika would come up with. "Ooh, an apron! Only four fifty! Sweet! This'll look great on—hahaha… well, this way you won't get messy in the kitchen! I guess whoever does my housekeeping'll need one, even if it's not you, so it doesn't hurt to get it… China stole my old one, it had a kitty on it—well, not _stole,_ exactly, I don't mind so much that he took it, since he really really liked it, except that now I have to get a new one—BUT THAT'S OKAY!"

On Tuesday morning Amerika was back to normal enough to resume his technique of jabbering through breakfast, then shouting the day's instructions and other critical information while rushing around pulling his coat and shoes on.

"Oh! And England's coming over in the afternoon, I called him over to talk about… well, immigration stuff… and there's some border disputes… ooh, and some cool technology too! I'm not sure where you're planning on going now, there are plenty of jobs in D.C. but if you want to go back to New York he's heading up that way on his way back when he's done here, he has a car! but he can't use it here, it's backwards, so he has to take a taxi, but yeah, I guess you could go to Chicago, I think a lot of Polish people are going there, so you'd have friends! Ehe, anyway, he should be here at about four, he'll probably want tea so good thing we bought some, huh? I don't usually buy tea, I don't like it, we used to fight about it a lot so it reminds me… well, I'll tell you about that later, someday maybe, if you're still around after he's gone, make tea for him and put out some sugar cubes and cream—try your best to stall him 'til I get back, six sharp!"

The timing of Anglija's arrival was rather unfortunate. One of my tasks for the day was to beat out all the rugs, so I was in the yard whacking at heavy carpets with a stick for most of the afternoon. I wasn't expecting him to arrive early, so needless to say I didn't hear him knocking at first.

I'm not sure how long he was kept waiting on the front porch, but while I was replacing the living-room rug I was startled by a sudden violent pounding and a man's voice yelling at the top of his lungs a variety of probable profanities I wasn't familiar with. I padded very quietly into the kitchen and saw that it was only two fifteen. I was very surprised, but I checked through the peephole and the man at the door did match Amerika's description: a small, angry man with blonde hair and bushy eyebrows.

"Good afternoon Mister England," I said as I opened the door. "I'm terribly sorry for the confusion, I did not expect you so early."

He growled, "Get my suitcases and put them in the spare room," and pushed past me into the house.

"As you wish, Sir," I said, adding a little bow even though he was already stomping off toward the living room.

I went into the kitchen and started a kettle for the tea. I then went outside and discovered that Anglija had two very large, very heavy suitcases. I tried my best to lift them both at once, but once I made it to the stairs I had to do it one at a time anyway. I could have sworn the second case had some sort of liquid in it.

By the time I had finally finished with the suitcases, the kettle was singing. I poured the water into the delicate yellow pot, and placed it on the matching tray with two matching teacups and saucers. There was also a matching sugar bowl and creamer, so I filled these and admired how lavish it all looked. _Anglijos…_ I couldn't help but smirk inwardly at how oddly the word fit him. I would have to watch him to see if he really did that thing with his pinky when he drank.

I brought out the tea and placed it on the coffee table. "Here is your tea, sir," I said, and Anglija poured a cup for himself and added cream and sugar. He did not invite me to sit down or have a cup with him. He was better-versed in the proper treatment of servants than Amerika. I stood and watched silently, trying not to ogle too obviously when he did, indeed, pick up his cup with his pinky sticking out. He neglected to dismiss me, despite the fact that there was clearly nothing for me to do. I had a feeling this was his revenge for being left to stand outside for so long.

Finally, he put his cup down and addressed me. "You're Lithuania," he said abruptly, without looking up.

"Yes, I am, Sir," I answered.

He glared at the table for a minute longer, then blurted, "And you're involved in that border dispute with Poland."

I chose my words carefully. "It's… a bit more complicated than that. Sir."

"Yes, it is… I understand that you aided the Red Army invasion?"

"Not by choice."

"I see."

"Only under threat of total annihilation. Of being attacked myself."

He ground his teeth together. "Goddamn it! What part of the 'war to end all wars' do you people not understand? Europe can't afford another Great War!"

Fortunately it seemed this was all he wanted to say, since I couldn't possibly respond to his outburst without a confrontation. How he could accuse _me _of willfully participating in any of this… lumping me in with _those people… _it was infuriating! I brought the tea tray back to the kitchen, then returned to the yard to finish my business with the rugs. I may have given the poor rugs a slightly harsher-than-necessary treatment.

Anglija did not reemerge from his room until Amerika arrived, at six sharp as always. This was fortunate, since I barely had enough time to finish the day's work with all the confusion. We ate at the dining table though, so that was different. At dinner, Amerika completely dominated the conversation as always, while Anglija and I sat in uncomfortable silence. After I left the table to wash the dishes for the last time, I began to hear a harshly whispered argument. It never got loud enough for me to hear, but perhaps that was for the best.

I returned to the servants' quarters to pick up the last of my meager belongings. I removed the yellow apron and considered it for a moment, but decided to leave it hanging on the door. I might need an apron depending on what job I got next, but it wouldn't be appropriate to take it from Amerika. After, all, he would get a new servant to replace me soon, and I didn't want to put him through the trouble of buying a new one.

I walked to the front door and put down my suitcase so I could put my coat on, but Amerika stuck his head around the corner that very moment and said, "Hey, um, tee hee hee, don't suppose you want a drink before you head off?" He leaned in conspiratorially, "England snuck some scotch in his suitcase! Hee hee!"

Well, that would explain the sloshing noise. I wasn't sure why they had to sneak it in, but that was exactly the kind of inconsiderate game wealthy nations always played. I should have scowled and stormed out, but something held me back. I wasn't really angry anymore, but I didn't want to be claimed by another superpower nation, and as far as I could tell leaving was the only way to ensure that. I'm not sure what it was, but there was a part of me that really wanted to see what Amerika was like outside of a master-servant relationship. What was he really like? So against my better judgment I removed my coat, but left my suitcase by the door.

Then we got drunk. It took very little time before Anglija became belligerent, but fortunately he had almost no coordination, and couldn't even get his words out without slurring. Surprisingly, he didn't seem too interested in scolding me for making such a terrible first impression, but was entirely focused on whining at Amerika: first about taxes, then… I'm not sure what exactly, but he sounded very upset. "I'm the United Flo—ucky Kingdom, you British bas—aaahaa—foody blockaw—YANKEEE bastard! You don't understand me! I'm beggar an' bigger than you' ever be, an' don' forget—why don't we... gonna be friends, you ass... fuck..."

I was just drunk enough to find this all incredibly hilarious; which, unfortunately, meant that I was also drunk enough to be overly sympathetic. He had slipped from the couch to the floor several minutes earlier, so I got up and crossed the room to where he was slumped on the floor and pulled him into an awkward sideways bear hug. "It's okay, you don't need to cry. I'm just glad you're not mad at me for locking you out! You're not so bad, you know. Actually, you're very good," I cooed as soothingly as I could.

"Whadda youuu know—you don't know meee! I'm the floddy, focky... EMPIRE DAMN IT!" He turned towards me to put his arms around my waist, and proceeded to grace my shoulder with his tears and snot.

Amerika suddenly remarked stiffly, "You know, it's people who act like _this_ that made my boss illegalize alcohol in the first place."

I was alarmed at his reaction, and almost pointed out that this was all his idea, but I'm one of those people who can only say nice things when I'm drunk. "Mmm, he's all right," I stroked Anglija's hair protectively, "I don't mind." I thought for a moment, then snickered mischievously, "It's a good thing he's too drunk to know what you just said."

Amerika's countenance softened at that, and he sighed, "I'll get him some water."

Once Amerika had left the room, Anglija unburied his head from my chest and blubbered, "You know, he's really... wants you to stay... If you can... shouldn't... left him behind... he won't... love me again... if you leave—he won't care if you leave anymore, he won't even care! I leave him every time it... doesn't... miss me... if I stayed when you had the chance… you wasn't... love! me! anymore!" He punched my chest limply to punctuate the final three words, and sogged even further into my lap as the tears started gushing again.

I'm not sure what took him so long, but by the time Amerika returned with water, Anglija was in no shape to drink it. He was practically passed out, and after several minutes of trying to rouse him, we finally gave in and Amerika carried him upstairs to the spare bedroom. I only got a brief glance of Anglija curled up in Amerika's arms, desperately clinging to the front of his shirt, but it made me feel sad for both of them.

Amerika returned very quickly this time. "Whadda ya say we top off this bottle, huh?" he raised the scotch above his head. That seemed a little ambitious; it was a small bottle, but it was still half full. Then again, considering Amerika's absurd metabolic rate it might actually be possible.

The next four hours proved this prediction true. We laughed and talked for what seemed like only moments, and soon the bottle sat empty on the coffee table, just at eye level from our seat on the floor.

We sat in pensive silence for a while, almost as if we were waiting for something. Whatever it was, Amerika got tired of waiting for it, and suggested that we go to bed. I was pretty tipsy, and he was too, so we leaned on each other and headed toward the servant's quarters.

We arrived at the little room and he exclaimed, "Where's yeh sheets?"

"They're gone. Can I jus... stay with you tonight?" I answered hazily, remembering that I had removed them in anticipation of my departure, but not wanting to bring it up.

He stared at me for a bit, and then said slowly, "Yeah... I guess that's fine."

He led me upstairs to his room, and I climbed into one side of the bed while he stumbled around the foot of the bed to get to the other side. We stared at each other's faces for a few minutes, and he finally broke the silence with a tearful, "What are you really going?"

"Well," I mumbled sheepishly, "I don' wanto, really… but... I don' to other nations are owning me and make me stay." I knew how horribly I was jumbling the English grammar, but I was too tired to bother correcting myself, and was halfway hoping that he would find it incomprehensible and give up. No such luck.

"But I'm not going to make you slavery or anything," he cried, now with full-sized alligator tears. "I know how slavery is bad and I wonnever let anybody do that again! Please... want you to stay, don't leave, please."

"Look, I like to, but it's... I'm not... if you don't... you say that, but I'm not really allowed to leave. I'm can only do whatever you say, and I have to stay even if I want to or not. So that makes... I'm just a prisoner."

"You won't be, I promise! You're free to go wherever I want to, and you don't _have_ to do everything I say, I just... might get fired if I don't. But I know you want to go back home once you have some money, but I can give you money just as good as anybody else, so you should stay here until..."

"Until I leave anyway."

After that he turned his back to me and continued to cry loudly. I turned away from him too, and at some point I suppose I fell asleep.

I was always the first one up, and despite the previous night's events, that morning was no exception. I was a little hung over, but not so much that I forgot Amerika and Anglija's argument over coffee and tea. They had never explained why they fought about their caffeinated beverages of choice so fervently, but they had once been very close, and there were certain parts of an old bond that always remained. It was sad, though, that the only part left was the part they disagreed on.

In any case, I brewed a pot of coffee as well as one of tea, and brought the two mugs upstairs. _Good thing I was around to count Anglija's sugar cubes yesterday, _I thought absently while I touched his shoulder gently and placed the tea on his bedside table. He groaned and pulled the covers over his head, but I heard him pick up the mug as soon as the door clicked.

When I awoke Amerika, he scowled, "You don't need to bring me anything, I'm comin' downstairs anyway," but I left the mug on the table anyway, and when he arrived in the kitchen several minutes later it was empty. He tried to stifle a yawn while he sat and watched me cook. "You don't have to do that this morning," he mumbled, "your five days are up."

"I know," I said.

He stared at me expectantly, but I didn't say anything more, so he prompted, "Well… are you still planning on leaving? You said you didn't want to, and I don't want you to, so…"

"I don't know," I murmured without really thinking about what I was saying. "I was planning on leaving yesterday. That's why there were no sheets on my bed. My suitcase is still by the front door."

"Didja change yer mind?"

"I just said I don't know," I grumbled.

"Well, okay, then why are you not sure anymore? I mean, if you were sure yesterday and you're not sure today, something must have changed your mind."

Taking advantage of the fact that breakfast was done frying, I thought about what to say next while I loudly distributed the eggs and sausages onto three plates. "Because you cried," I said as I dumped his plate down in front of him.

"Eh…?" he gaped.

"Rusija would have hit me and locked me up," I said amidst the din of dished clattering, "Lenkija would have twisted my own words so that I couldn't reasonably refuse," it was unclear whether he could hear me over the running of the sink, "but you just… well, I'm not quite sure what you did... but the point is, even though you wanted me to stay, you didn't try to force me." I finally turned to face him directly, "So, that means I really am free here."

"Of… course you are," he said in an uncharacteristically cautious tone.

"Well, then," I wiped my hands, "I suppose I'd be willing to stay and work for you." Picking up Anglija's plate, I started towards the stairs. "On the condition," I added, pausing in the doorway, "that whenever I do decide to leave, you won't stop me." I started walking again so he couldn't respond.

As much as Lenkija's bitchy negotiation techniques irritated me, they were significantly more effective than my usual approach. All of my neighbors poked fun at my political incompetence, and although I hated having to stoop to their level, in this case the stakes were high enough to justify the small sacrifice of dignity.

Once upstairs, I nudged Anglija's shoulder and was met with a response almost identical to the one earlier. I should have left more quickly, but I was stalling for time, still not fully processing what had just happened. Finally, Anglija got annoyed, and shot straight up to yell, "GET OUT YOU GIT!" so I had no choice but to face the music.

I got to the top of the stairs, and saw Amerika standing at the bottom, his face scrunched up in concentration like a conflicted child's. It would have been a thoroughly hilarious expression if not for the circumstances.

He squashed his face around for a while longer, and it occurred to me that this must be even more confusing to him than it was to me. I took pity on him: "You don't have to say anything," I said with a mild smile.

When he finally looked up to meet my eyes, they revealed an oxymoronic mixture of accusation and guilt. I maintained the gaze, but decided that whatever was on his mind, it wasn't worth another bout of drama to find out. It really was far too easy to forget how young he was.

Coaxing Anglija out of bed took so long that the two of them were late for their meeting with Amerika's boss, despite the fact that it didn't start until after noon. The old curmudgeon got on my nerves at every turn, but I was still reluctant for him to leave me alone in the house with Amerika again. We hadn't spoken much since that conversation.

Unfortunately, Anglija had made this journey across the ocean primarily to conduct business with Kanada. After only three days here, he re-boarded a taxi and left us behind.

For the next few days, Amerika was unusually quiet and pensive. Part of it was from the surprise and confusion that I was staying, but there had to be a bit more to it than that. I suspected it had something to do with his private conversations with Anglija; perhaps business was not going as well as he had initially hoped.

That weekend, completely out of the blue, he decided to clean out his storage room. I offered to help him out, but he refused very politely, which was a little uncanny since it was so out of character.

Of course, I understood his reasoning. After so many years, we all had hidden stashes of relics from our past. In my case these stashes were extraordinarily well-hidden, deep in the forest, but it made sense that someone who had only been invaded once in his life would keep his memories in a more obvious location.

I brewed a pot of coffee and called down to the basement, but it seemed he wasn't there. I searched around the house, and eventually found him in the front yard. "There you are, Mister Amerika," I said, forgetting yet again not to use formal greetings.

He didn't seem to notice though, seeming quite distracted. "Hey! Well, there was a lot of dust and trash, so I didn't get much cleaning done. I give up for today."

"I see," I said. I considered a more confrontational approach, but decided to go with: "That must've been a lot of work." It felt strange to be the older one saying patronizing things to someone younger. Most of my neighbors were older than me. "Ah!" I almost forgot the coffee tray in my hands. "Would you like to drink your coffee here?"

"Yeah, that sounds good," he said. We sat down to drink, and after a moment he added, "When I look at stuff from the old days, it brings back so many memories, and I can't throw them away. I suppose I'm becoming an old man, huh?"

I considered my words for a long moment, wondering how much to say. It really was far too easy to forget how young he was. "You're becoming an adult." Yes, that was the right thing to say. After all, it had always irritated when the older nations offered me uninvited wisdom.

The more I thought about it the more I realized that this strange mood must have been brought on by Anglija's visit. He hadn't known me long enough to be this upset about anything I'd done; in fact he didn't seem upset with me at all. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but not upset. I wasn't all too familiar with their history together, but I did know that Amerika used to belong to Anglija until he fought a war for his freedom.

In a way, it was the exact opposite of my relationship with Lenkija. Anglija had protected Amerika when he was young, and helped to make him strong; then, once he _was _strong, he wanted to forge his own destiny. I, on the other hand, had grown up defending myself, even though that meant paying extortions to practically everyone around, and frequently being attacked by them anyway.

For years I managed to stand my ground despite the constant pressure. But Rusija was relentless. He finally got sick of waiting for my submission, and attacked over and over. We fought five times. Each time he drove me further back, then pressed his advantage yet again before I could recover. Five fearsome battles against an enemy twice my size. I tried my best to use good strategy and agility to beat him, but he just pounded down relentlessly so that I was trapped, unable to do anything but parry his constant blows.

Only after these five endless wars was I desperate enough to accept Lenkija's offer. I had reluctantly cooperated with him in the past, but I knew he was a slimy trickster, and had no interest in a permanent association. But as much as I had hated being subservient to that loathsome man, the time I spent under his wing was sheltered and safe. It must have been so frightening for Amerika; that first time he had to stand alone.

The following weekend after dinner, Amerika finally decided to be a little more talkative again. "Heyaaa," he said as we finished dinner, "don't suppose ya wanna go joyriding again?"

"I'd love to," I answered immediately, glad to hear him finally sounding excited about something again.

This time we drove much further than we had the previous trip, and didn't see any electric lights. He finally stopped the car and looked the stars. "I drove west this time," he said, "so we wouldn't see the city. Because, well, you know… because it made you sad. Because… I do remember what it was like to be… frightened… terrified… of what the future would bring."

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**Author's Notes:**

First off, sorry about the title change. I never really liked the old one, and I think this one fits the over-arching theme of the piece better (and gets extra points for sounding uber sophisticated and profound!). Sidenote: woohoo for finally having a canon scene! Also, I'll probably re-upload this at some point... I'm not 100% satisfied with it... oh well. I guess that's why they call it a work in progress.

History lesson: America was originally colonized by the British Empire throughout the 1600's. By the late 1700's, the inhabitants of the Colonies had become increasingly dissatisfied with their exploitation by the British Empire, and in 1776 they unified and fought for their independence in what is now known as the American Revolutionary War. (Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious. Now for the part you might not already know.)

The Kingdom of Poland and the Grand Duchy of Lithuania cooperated in various military campaigns as early as the 1200's against the Teutonic Knights (mostly Prussian and German), the Golden Horde (Mongolian), and the Muscovites (Russian). Between 1492 and 1537 the Grand Duchy of Lithuania was weakened by a series of five wars against The Grand Duchy of Moscow (again, Russian; "Moscow" is an Anglicized version of "Muscov"). This prompted Lithuanian nobles to sign the Union of Lublin in 1569, joining the two kingdoms into the Poland-Lithuania Commonwealth.

(And as always, if there are historical errors, correct me. I do a ridiculous amount of research, but I'm sure I still make some mistakes.)

I just have to point this out because I find it amusing: Anglijos = English/royal

Also, I'm having waaaay too much fun with these characters. They're both just so totally awesome. I'm almost tempted to just turn this into one of those fics that seems like it's going somewhere for the first few chapters, but then descends into a never-ending-honeymooney-cuddlefest once the initial conflict is resolved… But, alas, Iggy the Grouch is rather miffed that I used him as The Plot Device and is threatening to blast me with his Fearsome Plot Laser if it turns out he sacrificed his dignity for naught. So the plot plods on.

Next chapter - The Heart of a Nation: Liet opens up about the Vilnius conflict.

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**Brought to you with limited commercial interruption by Generic Chain Store, Inc. **

"**We have the same merchandise no matter which outlet you shop from! Isn't that novel?" **


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